


Tutors

by Dystopian_Dramaqueen



Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Dry Humping, F/M, Lust, Masturbation, Sex Pollen, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25935730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dystopian_Dramaqueen/pseuds/Dystopian_Dramaqueen
Summary: Daemon Sadi is destined to be Jeanelle's one true love. While awaiting his return, she works to regain confidence in her body and learn the arts of pleasure from her closest friends. She wants to heal herself so she can fully experience her love with Daemon.
Relationships: Jeanelle Angelline/ Lucivar Yaslana
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

Khaleer

Saetan tilts his glass, draining the last drop of Yarbarah into his mouth, humming approval at the heady flavor. When he attempts to refill his glass, he’s surprised to find the bottle empty. Apparently he’d polished the whole thing off in one sitting.

Saetan leans back and sighs contentedly. His muscles are relaxed, his head is swimming, and his belly is exquisitely full. He closes his eyes, savoring the vibrant metallic taste in his mouth. He’d grown used to dead goat blood in his wine, but this was a special treat. _Fresh, virile and most definitely human._ He makes a mental note to thank Andular for the gift. _Hopefully he can procure some more._

He sets the empty glass down next to the craft text on his desk, ready to begin a quiet night of reading in the keep. 

Spread before him is a work he’s read countless times. Selected not for the knowledge within, but for the pleasure of handling the book itself. He runs his fingers over the ornate tooled leather cover, opening it slowly to expose the yellow pages within. He caresses familiar lines of calligraphy like the curves of a lover’s body. 

His sensual literary affair is interrupted by a dark chaotic energy swirling outside his study. 

_Embarrassment. Hesitation. Guilt_. 

His finger pauses, the dark tinted nail marking his place as he probes the hallway. 

_Jeanelle._

Her psychic scent is unmistakable. Saetan frowns. _Something’s wrong. Why hasn’t she come in?_

He closes the text, pushing back from his blackwood desk. He limps to the threshold, opening the door just in time to catch her retreating down the hall. 

“Witch child.” He calls softly. 

Jeanelle freezes in her tracks. After a long moment, she turns to him. _Lost. Frightened._

Saetan smiles warmly and gestures inside his study.

Jeanelle takes a seat in one of two leather chairs facing the fireplace. Saetan calls in a tray of nut cakes and a tea set. He pours a cup for Jeanelle, who sits, silently fidgeting with her teacup. 

Saetan takes in the crease between her eyebrows and the tension in her jaw muscles. She hasn’t spoken, she hasn’t looked at him, and most telling of all, she hasn’t so much as glanced at the nut cakes. 

Jeanelle stands, smoothing her dress. She hurriedly thanks him for the refreshments, turns on her heel and heads for the door.

“Lady.” His voice is kind but firm. _You’re not getting out of this. "_ Sit." 

Jeanelle wrings her hands, glancing at the door once again before sighing dramatically. She crosses the room, plopping down at his feet, cross legged, leaning her head on his leg, the way she did as a child. 

“What troubles you?” Saetan asks, stroking her hair reassuringly. “You can tell me anything. You know that.”

Jeanelle nods, steeling herself. “There are things that are mysteries to me. Things that everyone else just knows how to do.”

“Like calling your shoes.” Saetan smirks. 

Jeanelle nods emphatically. “Basic craft feels impossible. Which is humiliating because it should come naturally.”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of- and we fixed that little problem. You just needed the right tutor.”

“Exactly. There were things you couldn’t teach me. So you hired Luthivan to teach me craft, and Duaje to teach me art.”

Saetan racks his mind, trying to imagine where she could possibly be going with this. “Do your tutors not satisfy?”

Jeanelle falls silent, staring at her hands. “They do. But there are other subjects....” 

_Name the subject and I’ll have a tutor for you tomorrow. The finest from any realm. Say the word and they’re yours._

Jeanelle stares into the fire and says nothing. “This body.” She whispers, tears glimmering in her eyes. “It disgusts me.”

Saetan suppresses a smile. “Do you need a new body, witch child?” 

Jeanelle rolls her eyes, smacking his leg before her eyes glaze over again, reflecting the flames before her. “I fear I'll never learn to use it. I should have severed the connection when I had the chance.” 

Saetan’s heart aches in his chest. The night at Cassandra’s Altar still haunts him. She had tried to die. If Daemon hadn’t sacrificed himself, dragged her back against her will, they would have lost her forever. 

“When Daemon returns...”

Saetan shakes his head, suddenly understanding her anxiety. “Daemon would never hurt you.”

“I showed interest in the abyss. He’ll want to mate with my body.”

“That’s not how it works, lady.”

“I can’t even _imagine_ doing that. With anyone. Something that should come naturally, that everyone wants to do, and it feels like a nightmare for me. Even the thought makes me sick. I don’t want to be touched like that ever again.”

Saetan nods. A protective instinct rising in him. “You’re _not_ like anyone else.”

Jeanelle looks up, begging him to help her. “What if I never take a lover?”

“Everyone would understand.” 

Jeanelle holds his gaze, seeing that he means it. There is no expectation, legal, familial or otherwise that would force her into intimacy. Some tension drops from her shoulders. Her eyes focus again on her hands. Her voice is soft. “Would Daemon understand? Would he still love me if I refuse him as consort?” 

Saetan stirs, moving from his chair to the floor beside Jeanelle, grimacing at the discomfort of the cold hard floor on his old bones. Once he’s settled, he lifts her chin and holds her gaze. Needing to be certain that she hears him. 

“Daemon will love you forever. Loyalty to Witch runs in his blood. If you choose to be celibate, he will defend your celibacy with his very life.”

Sadness creeps into Saetan’s heart. _You are right to protect your heart after everything you’ve been through. No one else protected you from the horrors of the world. We should have shielded you then. But it will be a great tragedy if you never take a lover, lady. You deserve the healing and comfort of another’s arms. But know that we will support you, whatever you decide._

Jeanelle reads Saetan’s unspoken thoughts on his face. Her energy shifts to a childlike curiosity. 

“What if I _want_ to be his lover?”

“Then give him the Consort’s Ring when you’re ready.” 

Jeanelle stands in a huff, pacing and wringing her hands. “How can I be ready for something I’ve never done?”

Saetan fights a grin. _Ah. So that’s what this is about. Sweet summer child._

“How did you learn such things? One of these books? Lend it to me. I'll read it myself."

Saetan holds her gaze. “Some knowledge is not found in books.”

Jeanelle throws her hands up. “Then who will teach me? Can you arrange a tutor?”

Saetan coughs. His mind filled with images of red moon houses, and the hundreds of men who would gladly audition for such an opportunity. _You must choose your teacher, Lady. No one else can do that for you._ “Your teacher will appear when you are ready.”

“Like a spell?”

_Sweet, sweet child._ “Trust me, you’ll know.”

“HOW will I know?” Jeanelle fixes her eyes on his, demanding at least one objective fact. Some clue to hold on to.

Saetan sighs. “When you’re ready there will be no fear, just curiosity. You’ll feel safe. Choose someone who loves you. Someone you are drawn to. Someone who needs you as much as you need them.”

A wrinkle grows between her eyebrows. “These aren’t answers. They’re riddles.”

“So it is with real wisdom.” Saetan says. He glances toward the door, leaning close, lowering his voice. “There is one way to be _absolutely certain_ you’ve chosen the correct tutor for such lessons.”

Jeanelle leans in, listening intently, hoping to finally get some guidance.

“The one you seek will not offer themselves to you.”

Jeanelle shakes her head, exasperated. “I don’t know what that means. I’m more confused now than I was when I came here tonight.”

“You’ll understand every word when the time comes."

Saetan kisses her head. "Now enough of this talk. Your tea is getting cold.”

Jeanelle reads his face, her eyes narrowing. Seeing that this is all she will get out of him tonight. She sighs and hugs him. "Thank you, Papa."

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Askavi**

_Jeanelle_

She’s never felt anything like this before. Mania, like liquid fire in her veins. She’s more awake, more alive than she’s ever been. 

_Lucivar was right, the woods are better than The Keep. At least I’m not trapped. I can do anything I please here._

Jeanelle corrects herself. _Almost anything. If I was alone I’d vanish these infernal itchy clothes. Alas, my companions would never allow it. Stupid prudish males._

She smiles to herself as she thinks of a better idea. _If Smoke wasn’t here I’d vanish Lucivar’s clothes, restrain him and work out the Safframate another way._ _I doubt he’d stop me._

These thoughts just make the ache between her legs worse, but she indulges herself, allowing her mind to wander to him, just for a moment. She listens to Lucivar’s athletic footfall behind her, the cadence of his steady breath in the cold fall air. _If he was out front, I’d watch him run, watch the sweat collect on his golden brown skin. A sheen of salty perfection, like dew on a rose petal at dawn. The pheromone laden droplets would cling to his muscular curves, running down the cleft of his lower back. I’d lick them away. How perfect they would taste. I’d breathe in the air he was done with, full of the scent of him, full of his power. I’d stare at him, memorize him, imagine his body above me, inside me._

She winces at the friction between her thighs. Her sex is painfully swollen and aching for touch. Jeanelle clenches her eyes shut, gritting her teeth. _This was a mistake. I should have stayed home. If I was at The Keep, I could steal his pillowcase, take his scent to my bed, roll a pillow between my legs, close my eyes and breathe him in and imagine it was him between my legs. Maybe someday it will be. Would his breathing be this even in bed? Steady and warm in my ear. Would he lick the sweat from my skin as I came undone?_

Jeanelle trips over a root, chastising herself and blinking back to the present. 

_Damn you, Lucivar. You said you’d help me. This is just making it worse._

Jeanelle grits her teeth and runs straight for a briar patch. 

_  
  
  
  
_

_Lucivar_

Jeanelle cuts off the hunting trail and into the forest. Lucivar and Smoke share a glance, following after her. 

Smoke clears fallen trees with grace, built for terrain like this. Lucivar’s wide leathery wings do not fare as well in the rough. His bare chest is lashed by low hanging branches, skin burning as briars and roots tear his leathery flesh.

He grits his teeth, knowing he needs to pick his words carefully. The wrong words could be his last. Jeanelle’s in a delicate state with the Safframate still pumping through her veins. _Get your ass back on the path or I’ll drag you there_ won’t do. 

Lucivar’s thoughts are interrupted when a long thin branch whips him hard across the face. He lets out a snarl. “There’s a creek ahead, perfect place for a water break.” 

Jeanelle veers further into the brush, ignoring him. 

Lucivar registers her defiance and struggles to control the rage bubbling in his chest. His back is a knotted mess of aching muscles. His feet are on fire. She hadn’t stopped moving for two days. Two days of continuous movement. _This could all be over if you’d just snap. Release the pressure. Hurt something instead of punishing yourself._

He makes a mental note to discuss coping mechanisms other than flaying herself within inches of death.

\------------------------------------------

Lucivar sets up camp as quickly as he can. Jeanelle’s taking out her frustrations on an old wooden shack, but before long she’ll need something else to aim her aggression at. If he can manage this moment correctly, they might all get some rest tonight. 

His head snaps to attention. He holds his breath, listening hard. He hears nothing. No hammerfall, no splintering planks. _Nothing. Silence._ He drops his sleeping bag and jogs to the clearing. _It’s empty._

“Cat?” He turns, scanning the woodline for movement, his brow cinching together. _She’s gone. Damn her._

Lucivar sends a spear thread to Smoke. *The Lady is missing* 

“CAT!” He barks, his voice crackling with anger. 

He scans the clearing again, trotting toward the discarded sledgehammer. _Of course she didn’t take it with her, it’s bigger than she is._ He brushes dry leaves away with his hand, exposing her her footprints in the soft earth. Smoke appears, sniffing the footprints. They break into a run, tracking her through the woods.

Lucivar tries not to think the worst. That she’d been taken by Jhinka soldiers while he wasn’t looking. That they were roasting her over a slow fire, and it was all his fault. He says nothing, but Smoke senses his urgency and quickens their pace. 

The woods thin out as they approach a river bank. Smoke pauses, scenting the wind. 

Lucivar instinctively seeks high ground, running up to the edge of the small cliff. His eyes widen when he sees a woman’s form laying at the water’s edge. He dives off the edge of the cliff, wings spreading to catch him as the earth disappears beneath his feet. He flies hard and fast up the river, back peddling when he reaches Jeanelle’s body.

_She’s not in danger at all._

Lucivar’s cheeks burn at the sight before him. His Lady- _exposed_ . _Vulnerable_. Beautiful and soft and perfect like a Dryad bathing in a sacred spring.

She’d stripped her clothes off at the waterline and taken a delightful swim before resting at the water’s edge. The cool mud of the river bank was a healing poultice, drawing the heat from her burning skin. She’s completely still for the first time in days.

Lucivar lowers himself to the ground and closes the remaining distance quietly on foot. Mixed emotions flood through him. One feeling rises above the rest. _Anger_. He has half a mind to throw her over his shoulder naked and whack her ass for this. He pauses, needing time to calm his furious temper before getting his hands on her.

Jeanelle’s eyes are shut. Her fingers trace tiny circles on her abdomen, knees clenching together as they move lower. She seems unaware of his presence until she bites her lip, smiling and murmuring “Lucivar.” 

His dick aches to hear his name on her lips. 

Jeanelle grins, shaking her head. “We don’t need a bed, silly. The earth is our bedchamber.”

Lucivar feels lightheaded when he realizes what she’s doing. Touching herself and thinking of him. Of _them._ He swallows, trying to ignore the uncomfortable throbbing in his stiffening cock. He doesn’t allow his mind to go to her.

_It’s just the Safframate talking._

He gathers her clothes quickly, averting his eyes. He clears his throat, trying to get her attention.

It doesn’t work. 

He sighs, clenching his eyes shut and turning toward her. “You must get dressed, Lady.”

Jeanelle bites her lip. “We don’t need clothes for this, lover. Come to bed.” Her fingertips trace lower, stroking the thatch of hair between her thighs. 

Lucivar has had enough. His voice is a low, dominant growl. “We’re in enemy territory, Lady. I must escort you back to camp.” _On your own two feet, or over my shoulder, your choice._

Jeanelle’s eyes open in horror. She sits up quickly, staring at Lucivar, her eyes a maelstrom of emotion. She doesn’t cover herself, even now. _Unafraid, unashamed of her nakedness._ Her confidence disarms him. 

He throws her clothes on top of her, relieved that she’s finally covered. He blushes fiercely as she stands and pulls her pants on. Smoke and Lucivar turn away to protect her modesty. 

But Jeanelle stops, staring at the shirt in her hand. Something changes on her face. Her eyebrow quirks up and a devilish smile creeps at the corner of her mouth. 

Lucivar’s seen that look before. _Mischief._ His voice is a warning. “Don’t.”

Jeanelle’s eyes light up at the challenge. She holds her shirt out, dropping it on the ground. She backs away, step by step. Testing him. 

“Cat. I swear to the darkness…” Lucivar lunges for her, and straight into the black shield she’d thrown up around him and Smoke.

Jeanelle smiles. “I need to finish what I started. The shield will dissolve in ten minutes. Good luck, Warlords.” She winks before sprinting to the river bank, diving in and swimming downstream with the current.


	3. Chapter 3

Askavi

_Lucivar learned to hunt at the age of nine._

_It was that or starve._

_Eyrien Hunting Camps are brutal, hopeless places._

_No one cares for the children, so they care for themselves._

_Children either find their own food, or they die._

_It’s that simple._

_Hunters eat first. Hunters eat their fill._

_Hunters are insatiable, leaving only bones_

_and grimy soup bowls behind after meals._

_Children serve their elders quickly and silently, otherwise remaining out of sight._

_Children are beaten if they get in the way._

_Hunters don’t mourn missing children._

_Deaths are expected, appreciated, even._

_One less mouth to feed._

_As an orphan bastard,_

_Lucivar knew with complete certainty_

_that no one would even notice if he died._

_Some children make do with scraps._

_Some provide for the others._

_For Lucivar, the ache in his empty belly_

_was the only tutor he ever needed._

_He learned to be stealthy,_

_treading quietly and avoiding the drunken gaze of his violent elders._

_He followed the hunters on expeditions, observing them._

_He fashioned his own spears and arrows to match theirs._

_He learned to trap game, to forage edible plants._

_Most importantly, he learned to cover his tracks._

_Butchering his kills and burying the entrails_

_far enough from the camp to avoid discovery._

_He gave most of his food away to those who couldn’t hunt for themselves._

_The small amount of food he kept was more than enough to sustain him._

Lucivar stares at Jeanelle’s footprints and the wreckage of broken twigs she’d left in her wake. _She may as well have left signal fires._

He shakes his head as anger burns his mind. _Does she have NO instinct for self preservation? Even now, as a girl, her raw power is staggering, but she never lifts a finger in her own defense. She’ll get fucking killed if she doesn’t learn to cover her damn tracks._

Lucivar blows out a slow breath. 

_I will be your mentor, Cat. I’ll be the teacher I never had. I’ll show you how to protect yourself. As soon as I thrash some sense into you._

\-----------------------------

By the time Lucivar finds Jeanelle, he’s calm. Bone chillingly, murderously calm. 

He finds her kneeling in a clearing, gathering wildflowers. Stark naked. Perfect and ethereal. 

Lesser men would be paralyzed at the sight of her, overwhelmed with desire. 

All Lucivar sees is his own failure. _She’s so vulnerable._ Her safety is his responsibility. Even a small hunting party could capture her...ravish her…the thought infuriates him. 

Lucivar’s fists clench at his sides as the air temperature drops to match his mood. The chill radiates from him in a perfect circle, tendrils of frost creeping across the ground around him. 

Smoke puffs out clouds of frozen breath into the cold, thankful for the thick fur between him and the Black Jeweled Warlord Prince’s icy rage. 

Lucivar treads softly, inching toward Jeanelle like he’d approach a grazing deer. Frozen leaves crunch softly beneath his measured steps. When a twig snaps under his foot, Jeanelle’s head whips up. Her eyes widen and she scrambles to her feet, but it’s too late. Lucivar scoops her up into his arms. He calls in some clothes, wrestling her into a shirt and trousers before throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. 

Jeanelle kicks and bites and beats his back with her fists, but it doesn’t make a bit of difference. Lucivar strides calmly back in the direction of their camp. 

After a few minutes, Jeanelle stops resisting. She takes a deep breath, enjoying the earthy musk of her Warlord brother. He hasn’t bathed in days. He smells of leather, smoke, dirt and sweat. Like a horse who’d been worked too hard. He smells distinctly male. Strong and potent. 

Jeanelle’s never seen Lucivar this quiet. His confident bravado is nowhere to be found. She gently probes his thoughts, but there’s nothing. He’s hidden behind his inner wall, guarded and shut off. 

Smoke trots behind them, watching her with curiosity. 

Jeanelle smiles and sends a purple dusk thread, distaff to spear, knowing Lucivar will listen in. *Smoke is a good hunter. Smoke found his lady very quickly. Led Lucivar to her.*

Smoke shakes his head sharply. *Lucivar found the lady. Lucivar was very worried.*

Jeanelle smiles. *Lucivar worries too much. Lady can protect herself.*

A warning growl rumbles in Lucivar’s chest.

Jeanelle sighs. She has so many questions for Smoke. She’s curious about Kindred mating rituals. How they help females through their heat. Are they assigned a partner? Do the males take turns satisfying a female in need? 

Janelle bites her tongue. With Lucivar in such a foul mood after her little game of hide and seek, she knows this isn’t the time. 

When they arrive back at the camp, Lucivar sends Smoke a spear thread. 

*I need a minute alone with the Lady.* 

Smoke nods and trots off to hunt for dinner. 

Jeanelle bites her lip, knowing she’s in for a tongue lashing. 

Strangely, Lucivar says nothing. He’s distracted. Looking across the clearing for something. Holding Jeanelle’s legs to keep her firmly in place over his shoulder. 

Jeanelle sighs. “You might as well get it over with. The lecture about how stupid it was to run off. I can always tell when Papa’s gonna lecture me. He gets quiet like this before he calls me to his study. He sits behind his big scary desk and lectures me for ages about all the bad things that _didn’t_ happen.” Jeanelle rolls her eyes. “Papa worries too much.”

Lucivar gives no indication that he’s listening. 

Jeanelle’s stomach twists. Genuine worry sets in. _How mad is he? Has this ruined our friendship? Have I wounded his ego beyond repair?_

She can’t stand the suspense any longer. The silent treatment is unbearable. She decides to lance the wound and goad him into a confrontation. 

“This whole thing was your fault, if I’m honest.” 

Lucivar’s grip tightens on her legs. Jeanelle smiles. _Good. You ARE listening._

“You’ve been dosed with Safframate. You know it’s effects. You know how to relieve the pain. You’re experienced in the arts of pleasure. Wouldn’t most Warlords line up for the opportunity to…”

Jeanelle shivers. Lucivar’s skin is like ice. 

“I was just trying to fix the problem since you wouldn’t!!”’ She laments. 

“Don’t worry.” Lucivar murmurs, eyes narrowing when he finally sees what he’d been looking for. 

He strides to a fallen log, sitting down comfortably and pulling Jeanelle over his lap. 

He caresses her backside slowly. “I’m gonna fix the problem. Right now.”

Jeanelle squirms, not understanding until his hand connects with her ass in a sharp open handed slap. 

Her mouth opens, her eyebrows wrinkling in disbelief. _Is he…._

Her cheeks burn with embarrassment when she realizes what’s happening. She’s never been spanked before. No one’s even _threatened_ it before that day in the garden when she heard Lucivar mulling it over. 

_That night, Jeanelle lay awake in her bed_

_replaying his words on endless repeat._

_Imagining his hands on her body._

_His ownership. His discipline._

_What would it feel like to be punished by him?_

_Would he hurt her, or just assert dominance?_

_Jeanelle made herself come three times that night._

_Wishing her fingers were his._

_The next morning at breakfast, she could feel the power radiating off of him._

_Butterflies swam in her tummy as she breathed in his phermones._

_Could he smell the desire that still coated her fingers?_

_Did he know she'd made it just for him?_

Another sharp slap lands across both cheeks, then another, and another in a steady cadence. Her whole body is on fire, in exquisite torment more erotic than her deepest fantasy. Shame washes over her. Some deep primal part of her wants to please him, wants to be held and praised by him. She’s flooded with excitement, fear and desire. She’s relieved that he cares enough to exercise control. 

The true pain is in her swollen, throbbing sex. Unbearable pressure twists in her core, amplified by the Safframate. 

Jeanelle softens her body. _He’s touching me. Maybe I can convince him to mate me. Just this once._

Lucivar whacks her ass in a steady rhythm.

Jeanelle comes to her senses, realizing that he can't read her thoughts. She’s lying helpless over her brother’s knee. Suddenly, she’s ashamed, needing to regain control. She kicks and bucks wildly, pushing away and trying to stand. 

Lucivar hooks a leg over both of hers, pinning her wrists at the small of her back. 

“Hold still, Cat.” 

Panic rises when she realizes she's powerless against her muscular guardian. He’s spanking her and there’s nothing she can do about it. Her hips buck wildly. 

“Let go of me!” She yells. “LemmeGoLemmeGoLemmeGo!” 

Her protests do nothing to slow the spanking. Lucivar punishes her with firm, steady swats. A stinging burn builds in her backside.

Something changes. She’s squirming, but not to get away. She’s rocking her hips, rutting against his thigh, desperately searching for friction. She arches her back, surrendering to him. 

Lucivar ignores her provocative movements, spanking her hard and steady. An exquisite pressure grips her. She pants like a dog in heat. She’s gonna come like this, bent over Lucivar’s lap, getting her ass beat for being a brat.

Lucivar pauses, blowing out a slow calming breath. He caresses her like he’s feeling the supple flesh for the first time. He squeezes her ass, jiggling and palming it almost too hard. 

Jeanelle waits. For any communication, out loud, or on a thread. Confirmation that this means something to him too. 

Lucivar says nothing, caressing her burning ass. It's devastatingly erotic for both of them. _Maybe he’ll finally help me. Maybe he’ll take me to bed and end my suffering._

Without warning, Lucivar hooks her trousers, pulling them down before starting again with renewed vigor. He uses slow, hard slaps that make her yelp. Her breasts jiggle with every impact, her nipples hard and aching. 

She can hear his labored breathing. She knows it affects him too. His cock stiffens underneath her. She pretends not to notice. 

Lucivar rubs the sting from her ass after each strike, soothing away the burn. Before long, she’s near tears. 

Only now that she’s a soft, pliant needy mess, does Lucivar lecture her. Each word is punctuated by a swat. Each harder than the one before. Her ass is on FIRE. 

“Don’t. You. EVER. Run off without telling someone where you’re going. You could have been killed. I can’t protect you if I don’t know where you are.”

He pauses, breathing hard. “Do you understand?”

Jeanelle ruts against his muscular thigh, unable to speak. 

Lucivar strokes her back, calming her. The anger gone from his voice.

“You hear me, Cat?” 

She purrs, vibrating with pleasure at his touch. She sends the thread before she can stop herself. 

*Please don’t stop.*

Lucivar growls, a dominant, predatory sound. 

He grabs thick handfuls of her soft flesh. His palm is hot. His breaths are tight. He growls again, forcing himself to remain in control and see this through. 

*If you EVER disobey me again, I will take you over my knee and spank you until your ass is bruised. Do you understand me?*

Jeanelle’s mouth falls open as her brows cinch together. Her pussy is soaking wet. _Take me, Lucivar. Put your fingers inside me._

*Doesn’t matter where we are. I don’t give a damn who sees. If we’re at dinner, I’ll spank you right there in front of everyone.*

Jeanelle’s eyes fly open. *But Papa would never…*

*Father.* Lucivar interrupts. *Would gladly watch me discipline you. So would everyone else in the Hall. Because you are MINE. Mine to protect. Mine to serve. Mine to pleasure. Mine to punish.*

Lucivar pulls her up, sitting her on his lap. He smooths her blonde hair back, his eyes searching hers. “You have to learn to protect yourself, Cat”

Jeanelle squirms in agony. She’s so close to climax she can taste it. But the fucking Safframate keeps her release just out of reach. She wiggles her hips side to side, searching for friction from the hard cock beneath her.

In a flash, Witch has flipped them over. 

Witch straddles Lucivar, pinning his hands to the ground above his head as she did to Daemon in the abyss. Her Midnight voice rings out. “Let me sheathe you. Mate me. I command it.”

Lucivar blinks, smelling the psychic storm building around them. He shakes his head.

“No. Not like this, Cat.”

Witch registers his rejection, her mood swinging from lust to rage. “BASTARD!” She screams, slapping him hard across the face. She knees him in the crotch, just as he’d taught her.

Lucivar grimaces, holding her waist as she beats his face and chest with her fists. He does nothing to block her, focusing all of his strength to keep her seated over him. _That’s it, Cat. Take it out on me._

Then, just as suddenly as Witch had appeared, she’s gone. 

Jeanelle is left in her place, weak and exhausted, weeping freely. Humiliated. Aching with desire. Confused and angry that Lucivar would do nothing to ease her suffering. She takes his face in her hands and kisses him full on the mouth. Lucivar freezes, but doesn’t push her away. 

Jeanelle sits up, rocking her hips slowly over Lucivar’s hard cock. He doesn’t stop her this time. She throws her head back, rutting against him in earnest. _This might be enough._ She grinds her wet naked pussy against his trousers, finding enough friction to climb toward her end. 

Lucivar’s brows cinch together as her movements lift him too. He grunts, his breath stuttering before stopping completely as he comes hard, messing in his pants. 

Jeanelle’s hips jerk frantically as she goes over the edge too. She cries out loudly, gripping his strong shoulders and sobbing with relief. 

Smoke barks out a warning, snarling loudly at Lucivar, fangs out. 

Jeanelle laughs, wiping her tears. She stands quickly, petting Smoke to soothe him. *It’s ok. He didn’t hurt me. I asked him to. I feel better. This is how humans handle heat.*

Smoke whuffs, not convinced. He shoots Lucivar a threatening look before escorting Jeanelle back to her tent.


	4. Chapter 4

Askavi

Jeanelle fell into a deep, dreamless sleep that night. Lucivar fell asleep just as quickly beside her in the same tent. 

When the insects began their pre-dawn song, and the first whispers of dawn lightened the eastern sky, Jeanelle began coming back to her body. 

She felt _safe_ for the first time in years. _Warm. Protected._ Feelings she’d never had before. Her life was one of vigilance and survival, even as a child in Challiot. 

But now, somehow, she felt _safe_. A smile crossed her lips at the thought. Her mind continued rising, slowly returning to consciousness, aware of new details with each passing moment. 

Cicadas pulsed outside the tent. Birds began calling the dawn to each other. 

Smells. _Earth. Leather. Smoke. Musk._ The potent cologne she now knew as Lucivar’s scent. _Masculine. Strong._ Just like him. _Comforting_ , like a father or brother. Like _home_. 

_Warm_. Her whole body was warm, except for her nose and mouth. She blinked her eyes open, seeing white clouds of frost in the air before her. She wondered how she could be so toasty if the air was truly so chilled. 

Jeanelle shifts, and understands. 

Their bodies had come together during the night, and they lay entwined, limbs tangled together. His wings wrapped around her, like a dark guardian angel coocooning her from the frosty air. 

Her cheek on his chest, rising and falling steadily, his breaths synchronized to hers. 

Jeanelle closed her eyes and snuggled closer, savoring this stolen moment. She’d always wanted to be held, protected, adored by him. She nuzzled closer, hugging him tight. His arms tightened around her. 

Jeanelle had to roll over because her arm was asleep. When she did so, Lucivar adjusted instinctively, rolling to spoon her, adjusting his leathery wings to keep the warmth around her. 

Something had changed. 

Jeanelle stretched, eyes blinking open when she felt his arousal. She froze, not knowing what to do, her cheeks burning. She’d heard this reaction was often automatic for males. She wondered if he was even awake, but Lucivar’s breathing was different too. Shallow and tense. Jeanelle realized she had him trapped. He would never wake her, no matter how uncomfortable he was.

The sun was long past up. She wondered how long he’d been pinned there, holding her, unable to move. Tormented by a desire he would never give in to. 

She pretended to wake up, sitting up and yawning dramatically as if she hadn’t noticed his fullness against her. 

Lucivar quickly pushed to one elbow, scooting his hips away from hers. 

\----------------------

After a quick breakfast, Lucivar packed up the camp. Jeanelle walked a few yards into the woods, warming a stream and stripping off her stiff, sweaty clothes. She let her hair down out of it’s bindings, picking leaves and bits of bark out of the tangles. She waded into the stream, washing herself quickly. Cupping water, washing the dirt and sweat from her face. When she finally turned to retrieve her clothes, her eyes widened. Lucivar was standing a short distance from her, rooted in place. Held the breakfast dishes- which needed to be rinsed before they could be packed away. 

His brow was furrowed, his jaw clenched tight. His eyes locked on her naked dripping body. His expression somewhere between agony and bliss. He blinked, coming back to himself, quickly averting his gaze. “I’m sorry…” he muttered huskily. 

Jeanelle dressed quickly, walking past him without a word. Once out of view, she stopped, kneeling down to lace her boots and braid her hair. 

Then something came over her. _Curiosity_ . She turned, walking softly back toward Lucivar. She heard something. If she didn’t know better, she’d think it was a fight. _His morning exercises_ she thought innocently. 

She peered out from behind a tree, her eyes widening again when she saw her Eyrien guardian bent over, as if in pain. She stepped closer, needing to understand. _Is he sick? Injured?_

Lucivar braced himself against a tree with one hand. His trousers pushed low enough to expose a sliver of his tan backside. His other hand was working feverishly to relieve the ache between his legs. 

Jeanelle wanted to run. She wanted to watch. _She wanted to help him._

Before she could decide what to do- Lucivar’s fist slammed against the tree, a hoarse cry strangling in his throat, followed by the whisper of her name on his lips.


End file.
